


Tell Me Your See-Through Secrets

by rivers_bend



Category: One Direction (Band), Radio 1 RPF
Genre: Bondage, Kink Discovery, Kink Negotiation, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-02
Updated: 2013-06-02
Packaged: 2017-12-13 18:16:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,428
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/827334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivers_bend/pseuds/rivers_bend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nick’s good with people, but he doesn’t exactly pride himself on being hyper-aware of every mood shift in the room. He’s not <i>that guy</i>. He has been noticing though, that Harry can go weirdly quiet if you hold his wrists.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tell Me Your See-Through Secrets

**Author's Note:**

> The Obvious: I don't know any of the people whose names and public personas are used in this story and neither believe nor mean to imply this ever happened. 
> 
> Also, I gave Harry more time off in his touring schedule. Figured if I'm dreaming, I might as well dream big. 
> 
> Thank you to Becka for making sure I put the stuff in my head on the page.

Nick’s good with people, but he doesn’t exactly pride himself on being hyper-aware of every mood shift in the room. He’s not _that guy_. He has been noticing though, that Harry can go weirdly quiet if you hold his wrists. He doesn’t do it every time—just last night Nick grabbed him to stop him tickling and Harry grabbed right back, and they ended up wrestling in the middle of Aimee’s lounge—but when he does, it’s pretty obvious.  
   
Never so obvious as tonight, though, when Nick’s just trying to get some tea bags, milk, and a box of tissues, and Harry’s been trying to put all the snacks in the world in their basket. By some miracle, Nick got both Harry’s wrists together in one hand on the first try when he grabbed for them. He’d expected Harry to break his hold, laugh, maybe twist away and redouble his efforts to get at the bag of cheese-and-pickle Monster Munch that neither of them even likes. Instead, Harry’s tucked up against Nick’s side, chin resting lightly on Nick’s shoulder, and he’s walking half a step behind him, letting Nick lead him away from the crisps toward the dairy chillers. This is no mere convincing him to settle down when he won’t stop talking during Nigella.  
   
When they get to the milk, Nick has to let Harry go to grab a bottle, since he’s holding the basket in his other hand. Harry presses closer, digs his chin in a little, which doesn’t exactly make it easy for Nick to get the chiller open. “Kinda need my arm,” Nick points out. Harry moves a few inches to lean against Nick’s back instead of his elbow. But as soon as Nick’s got the milk into the basket, Harry’s pushing both wrists into Nick’s hand again, pressing them harder against Nick’s palm when Nick doesn’t immediately grip them tight.  
   
“You okay?” Nick asks, wondering if somehow Harry’s got bad news or something in the middle of Waitrose even though he’s pretty sure he’d have noticed if Harry stopped goofing off long enough to check his phone. But Harry gives him the sweetest smile Nick’s seen in months, and presses his cheek against Nick’s shoulder for a second, which Nick takes to mean he’s fine.

They have another moment of Harry pouting while Nick’s trying to pay, and he thinks he’s going to end up wearing a popstar as a cape because he needs both hands to get his debit card out, but then Harry leaves his side to bag up the shopping and let him pay in peace. 

Walking home, they have a normal conversation—or as normal as a conversation about Louis Tomlinson stealing Niall Horan’s Segway can be—and Nick figures he must have imagined the intensity of Harry’s mood shift in the shops. 

But then when they’re settling down to sleep that night, Harry can’t seem to get comfortable. It’s driving Nick mental, so he turns and makes Harry be the little spoon, pinning Harry’s arms firmly to his chest by dint of fingers curled round his crossed wrists. Harry doesn’t protest, doesn’t kick out or try to wriggle loose, just goes stiff for a second before melting into Nick’s chest. In under a minute, he’s breathing slow and deep, with the little whistle at the end of every third breath or so that means he’s actually sleeping and not faking it to lull Nick into a false sense of security. (Though since Nick’s started doing the breakfast show, Harry’s stopped the late-night pranks, even on weekends.) 

“Haz?” Nick says softly, and Harry doesn’t move. Interesting. 

*  
Nick next notices it a few Fridays later when he’s been at work for almost sixteen hours and Harry’s been doing press for longer than that, and they’re both tetchy and hungry and exhausted. Usually Harry admits to his bad mood, eats something, and gets Nick to cuddle him, but tonight he’s apparently lost it. Possibly because all Nick has in the fridge is a half bottle of white wine and four cans of Diet Coke. There isn’t even any cereal, because Nick forgot and left it out, and Puppy polished it off faster than Nick could say, “Stop!”

He finds Harry yanking open drawers and cupboards, snatching up any takeaway menus he finds and glaring at them before tossing them at the center island. Half of them miss and end up on the floor.

“Harry,” Nick says, but Harry ignores him. “Harry!” Nick reaches out and Harry whirls on him, arms flailing.

“There’s nothing to eat!” he shouts and sweeps the rest of the menus onto the floor like he’s a fucking diva and not the dorkiest popstar Nick’s ever met. 

When Nick reaches for him, he only intends to keep Harry from accidentally smacking him in the face or something, but they somehow end up in an almost hug, except Nick’s got Harry’s hands pinned in the small of his own back. All the fight drops out of him like Nick’s pricked a balloon. “You done pitching a fit?” Nick asks. 

Wrong thing to say. Harry’s fight comes right back, and he twists his arms in Nick’s grip, so Nick lets go. Which makes Harry glare and grab Nick’s hands, bring them behind Harry’s back again. Nick tries rubbing Harry’s spine soothingly, but apparently that’s not what Harry wants, because he does his best to get his wrists under Nick’s fingers, shoulders and forehead shoving against Nick’s chest frustratedly.    
   
“Harry,” Nick says sternly, holding Harry’s elbows and pushing him back so he can look him in the face. “You need to tell me what you want here. I can’t read your mind.”  
   
Harry’s looking more at Nick’s chin than his eyes, but Nick’ll take it. “I didn’t want you to let go. Why’d you let go?” he says sullenly.  
   
“Because it looked like you wanted me to let go.” Wrestling is one thing, fucking is one thing, but Nick’s not in the habit of being grabby at someone when they’re pissed off.  
   
“How come you never tie me up?” Harry asks next. Which. Is not at all where Nick thought this conversation was going. Thinking about it, though, maybe it’s not entirely a tangent.  
   
“How come I—?” Nick scrubs a hand through his hair. “Like, to punish you for throwing the takeout menus on the floor?”  
   
Harry shrugs in that way that means he’s not agreeing with Nick but he doesn’t want to argue.  
   
“Or, like, tie you up and fuck you silly?”  
   
That gets him another shrug, but also a twitch at the corner of Harry’s mouth like he might smile if Nick pushed. “Or just because you wanted to,” Harry says, gaze still somewhere south of Nick’s eyes.

Nick thinks about that, just sitting on the couch with Harry next to him, what that would be like, and his brain cycles fuzzy handcuffs, one of Harry’s bowties, the stretchy cotton headbands he’s taken to wearing, but nothing sticks.  
   
“It might just be nice.” Harry gives another little shrug. 

“Okay,” Nick says, because it doesn’t really matter why Harry wants it, or even how, if it would be nice, Nick will do it. Assuming Harry makes it clear what he’d be doing.

That gets him a slow smile, and Harry pushing his face into his chest again, but this time it’s a nuzzle more than a headbutt. Just to see, Nick takes Harry’s hands from where they’re resting on his waist and holds them behind Harry’s back. “Mmm hmm,” Harry murmurs, dropping a kiss on Nick’s collar bone. They stay like that several minutes, Harry’s shoulders loose, his breathing slow and steady against Nick’s neck. Finally Harry says, “Sorry I threw everything.” 

Nick gives Harry’s wrists a squeeze. “Sorry I don’t have any food in.” 

“Does that sushi place deliver this late?” Harry asks, his voice still small.

“I’ll get us some sushi,” Nick says. They should still deliver, and if they won’t, it’s only close. It won’t kill him to go collect it. 

Harry steps away and pulls his phone out, scrolling to the sushi place’s number and handing the phone to Nick. “I’ll put the kettle on,” he says. 

*

It’s just gone half nine on Sunday morning, and Nick would be irked about being awake, except he’s just had a really fantastic orgasm because Harry’s cheeky when he’s had enough sleep, plus he’s good with his hands, so instead, Nick’s smiling dopily and petting Harry’s hair while Harry tries to be subtle about the fact that he’s rubbing off on Nick’s hip. 

“You’re not subtle,” Nick points out. Harry knows this about himself, but Nick likes to remind him anyway. 

“Not tryin’” Harry says a little breathlessly. “Tryin’ta—“ Harry hooks his leg farther over Nick’s and grinds harder. That’s when Nick notices Harry isn’t clinging to Nick, isn’t jerking off. Instead he’s—Nick can’t quite tell, so he runs a hand down from Harry’s shoulder to find he’s got his hands gripping the opposite wrist behind his back. Nick’s tee is on the bed right by his thigh. It’s old and Puppy’s chewed two big holes it it already, so it won’t be a loss if Nick tears it more. 

Barely distracting Harry at all from his humping, Nick rips the shirt so it’s long enough to wrap several times around Harry’s wrists. It’d be smoother if he could see what he was doing, but it’s not like he’s going for aesthetics here, and as soon as Harry figures out what’s going on, he stills, lifts his arms from his spine to give Nick room. 

“This what you want?” Nick asks as he’s about to do the first knot. 

“Fuck yes,” Harry says. “Fuck. Do it tight.” 

Nick tugs the ends of the shirt tighter, wraps it around a few more times and ties it again. It probably wouldn’t keep someone who didn’t want to be kept, but Harry wiggles his arms a little and it holds, so Nick counts it good enough. The way Harry’s breathing’s gone rough and quick against Nick’s neck indicates Harry isn’t going to be complaining.

Now that they’re here, though, Nick’s not sure what to do. They’re on their sides facing each other, Harry snugged as close as possible to Nick, and it doesn’t give either of them much leverage, or Nick any room to reach Harry’s cock. Harry’s back to rutting best he can in the groove of Nick’s hip, making soft little needy noises that are going straight to Nick’s dick, which is definitely interested though nothing like hard again yet. He doesn’t think it’ll be long though, because watching Harry struggle to get off is stupidly hot. Nick’s torn between wanting to grab Harry’s arse and help him out, and wanting to roll away, deny Harry anything to rub up against, just watch him hard and desperate, see if he’ll beg. It’s pretty easy to get Harry to beg with his eyes, with grabbing hands and the eager curve of his body, but harder to get him to do it with words. Or maybe Nick just tends to give in too easily. He’s not too proud to admit this is entirely possible.  
   
“How bad do you need to get off?” he asks.  
   
“Bad,” Harry gasps. “So much.” He shoves with his hips hard enough to tip Nick onto his back. Mostly because Nick doesn’t resist, but still. It was pretty eager. Counterproductive though, because now Harry’s thigh is the only thing in contact with Nick’s skin.  
   
“Not that bad, obviously,” Nick says, trying not to laugh at the look of confused desperation on Harry’s face.  
   
“Niiick,” Harry whines. His chest is flushed red, shiny with sweat, his collar bones standing out where his shoulders are forced back by the way his arms are held. Nick wants to bite his nipple, but settles for pinching it, because he’s enjoying Harry’s straining cock and wild eyes too much to wreck the view by getting that close. Harry gasps and kicks out, catching Nick’s shin with his toenail, so Nick gives Harry’s nipple a twist. Not that it’s effective retaliation, since as far as Nick’s ever been able to tell, Harry likes having his nipples twisted almost as much as he likes having his dick sucked. Sure enough, his cock jumps, bouncing off his belly, leaving slick smeared over his _Might as well..._ tattoo.

“Haaaaz,” Nick whines back, mocking, because Harry would expect nothing less. Plus, it makes Harry’s mouth twist into a pout that should be obnoxious but is mostly obnoxiously kissable. That pout is in large part what got Nick to give in to Harry’s relentless flirting in the first place, so Nick’s rather fond of it. Eyes on Harry’s mouth, Nick rubs the pad of his thumb over the nipple he’s just abused and is rewarded with Harry catching his lip between his teeth. 

“You’re mean,” Harry whispers. 

“Bad mean?” Now is not when Nick wants to be bad mean. 

“No,” Harry says, voice catching. He leans into Nick’s thumb for a moment before awkwardly rolling onto his back, his bound arms under him. His dick’s still so hard, bobbing up against his belly, and Nick has to touch it, fondling the head between two fingers and a thumb, tugging at his foreskin, more a tease than anything, but it makes Harry moan and arch into the touch. 

“Still mean?” Nick asks. 

“More,” Harry says. “Please.” 

It would probably be possible to get Harry off just using two fingers with him this gone, but Nick’s overcome with the urge to suck Harry off while he’s like this, helpless and already begging. Not that Harry’s ever been one for grabbing Nick’s hair and fucking his face anyway, but the idea that he can’t, can’t so much as stroke Nick’s head or even prop himself on his elbows to watch, makes Nick’s lips part in anticipation. “I’ll give you more,” he says, wrapping his hand around Harry’s dick and squeezing, watching the head flush darker, slick bead up and slide toward the webbing at the base of his thumb. Grip still tight, he leans in to lick it off. 

“Oh god,” Harry says weakly.

“You sure you can take more?”

“Yessss.” With his hands trapped under his back and Nick’s arm pinning his hips, Harry doesn’t have much leverage for thrusting, but he does his best to shove his cock at Nick’s mouth. A stronger man might keep teasing, but Nick’s skills lie elsewhere. Shifting so Harry doesn’t knee him in the chest, Nick licks again, then closes his mouth over Harry’s dick. 

Between their schedules, Harry’s love for Nick’s hands, and how much he loves to get fucked when they have time for more than a wank and a snog, Nick doesn’t end up going down on Harry that often. Rarely enough that he forgets between times how much he actually loves it. Loves being _right there_ where Harry’s thighs are quivering, loves how Harry’s ragged breathing catches on high-pitched noises he can’t help making, loves the hot thickness of Harry’s dick in his mouth. 

Usually Harry’s still while Nick sucks him, body held tight like he doesn’t want to break anything, but with his arms trapped, he can’t stop writhing, head tossing, hips rocking and shoulders jerking. Every jump and twitch of his abs is magnified by the way his spine is arched over his forearms, and Nick has to touch, dig his fingers in between butterfly wing and hipbone. 

“Nick,” Harry gasps. “Nick, Nick, Nick Nick,” and for a second, Nick’s not sure if he’s begging or giving him a warning, but then his thigh and abs go rigid under Nick’s palms and he’s throbbing on Nick’s tongue, and Nick has a flash of uni, arguing “Spit, swallow, or make him pull out,” down the pub, then Harry thrusts, hard, making Nick choke on cock and a mouth full of jizz, so he ends up doing all three at once. 

It would be embarrassing, but sex with Harry somehow stopped being embarrassing about ten minutes into their first time, so Nick just wipes his mouth on Harry’s thigh while he gets a hand around his cock to finish him off. 

“Sorry,” Harry says, dick still twitching under Nick’s fingers. 

“I’ll live,” Nick says. He should definitely move and let Harry get off his arms. Just. He might need to suck a kiss right here onto the come-streaked skin on the inside of Harry’s thigh first. 

“Gnngh,” Harry squeaks when Nick uses his teeth. Nick gives him one last little lick and sits up. 

“I almost hate to untie you,” Nick says. At least not without taking pictures first. Harry flushed and sweaty, back arched, come-sticky cock on display, is a sight to behold. 

“Don’t,” Harry says. He’s staring at Nick’s hip. Or, oh. At where Nick’s hard again despite the choking incident. “You should come on me first.” 

“I should, should I?” 

Harry smiles the smile of a boy who knows he’s about to get what he’s asked for, and tilts just enough to give Nick a better target. “Yeah,” he says. 

Who is Nick to turn down an invitation like that?

He gets on his knees straddling one of Harry’s legs, left hand propped next to Harry’s chest. It gives him a good view and room to jerk himself, but Harry’s close enough to kiss if Nick wants to. Nick wants to. His hand bumps Harry’s belly each time he strokes, raised just enough by the prop of Harry’s crossed forearms, and Harry’s almost biting at his mouth, kissing him awfully desperately, especially considering he’s just come. It takes a minute for Nick to realize that he’s used to the desperation being in Harry’s fingers in his hair, on the back of his neck, but of course Harry can’t do that right now. Testing, Nick pulls back a bit, and Harry whines, lifts his head as much as he can to chase him. 

“Thought we were gonna watch me come on your stomach,” Nick says, putting his mouth out of reach, but leaving plenty of room for them to both see his cock. 

Harry pouts for a second, Nick suspects mostly because he knows Nick likes it, but then says, “Yeah. Yeah, do that.” 

“Don’t worry. I will.” It’s gonna take a minute, because he’s already come once this morning and he hasn’t had his breakfast yet, but he’s definitely going to get there. 

“So hot,” Harry says, eyes glued to Nick’s hand moving on his dick. “Wanna touch you, but I can’t. ’N you’re just gonna— all over me. Like I’m just. Dirty.” 

He is dirty, even when he’s not tied up. Sweet, and charming, and filthy, and Nick loves it. “You are a dirty boy,” Nick agrees. Which gives him an idea. His hand, initially slick with Harry’s jizz and Nick’s spit, is going a bit sticky. “Get my hand wet for me?” Nick asks, holding it almost, but not quite, close enough for Harry to lick.

“Fuck,” Harry breathes, sticking his tongue out as far as he can, making contact with the base of Nick’s middle finger. “Definit—“ he gets out before Nick shoves three fingers past his lips. 

This is far from the first time Harry’s got Nick’s hand wet for him, and not the first time he’s done it when it’s sticky with come, but it’s the first time that he hasn’t been holding on to Nick’s wrist, controlling which part he’s licking, what goes in his mouth. Nick’s chest twinges with guilt each time his stomach flips with how fucking hot it is to see Harry struggling to chase Nick’s fingers, to reach just that bit more of his palm. But watching how Harry’s eyes are shining, Nick can’t help making a game of it, pushing fingers into Harry’s mouth just when he’s lavishing attention on the ball of Nick’s thumb, pulling them out again when Harry tries to suck them deeper, letting Harry get just a taste of come before making him go back to a spot he’s already licked clean. It’s almost as hot as having his hand on his cock. 

Almost. But not quite. Nick finally takes his hand back and strokes himself with it, murmuring, “Good job,” when it slides smooth and slick. That makes Harry whimper and his eyes flutter shut, and _jesus_ , that’s hot too. “You’re so good at that,” Nick tries. “Got my hand so wet for me. Feels so good.” And Harry’s definitely breathing faster, the rise and fall of his belly under Nick’s knuckles less steady. “So good,” Nick says again. He’s getting so close. Harry’s fucking face— eyes glassy and lips parted around ragged breaths. 

Nick’s babbling now, “Harry,” and “good. So good,” concentrating on the head of his cock the way he likes when he’s about to come. 

Harry can see it, breathing, “yeah, yeah,” with every exhale, pushing his hips up so Nick’s rubbing his whole cock against his belly as he strokes it, and Nick comes all over Harry’s butterfly, up to his nipples, even getting a bit on one of his birds, Nick’s _so good_ s blending with Harry’s _yeah_ s, until Nick can’t stay up anymore and flops down at Harry’s side, remembering only at the last second that he doesn’t want to break Harry’s arms. 

Though maybe Harry wouldn’t have minded that too much, because if the way he shoves himself up and over onto Nick is anything to go by, he wants full-body contact. “Ooof,” Nick huffs, only putting it on a little. “You weigh a fucking ton.” Harry doesn’t, but he kicked off with his legs to land on Nick’s chest so there was some force behind it. And now Nick’s covered in jizz. 

“Need to touch you,” Harry says. He wiggles his shoulders as if he’s trying to remind Nick that his hands are tied behind his back. Nick can’t argue its effectiveness. Arms around Harry’s ribs, he tries to get the knots undone. A t-shirt was maybe not the best choice to tie Harry up. He struggles for another moment before giving up on the knots and just stretching the fabric, working it down Harry’s arms, pulling his hands from the loops of cloth. 

As soon as he’s free, Harry pushes his hands into Nick’s hair and kisses him. It’s sweet and just as dirty as coming all over Harry’s chest had been. But before Nick can get to into it, Harry kisses his way down Nick’s jaw and nuzzles into his neck. “I need a shower,” he says. “And you need a shower. And then I think you should take me and Puppy out for breakfast.” 

“You do?” Nick asks, hands cupping Harry’s shoulder blades, fingers rubbing underneath, where Harry must be sore. 

“I do,” Harry says, and leaves a smacking kiss on Nick’s collar bone before pushing up onto his knees. “I’m starving.” 

“Wouldn’t want that.” Harry can go ages without food, until he can’t. Then he needs feeding. “Get, then, popstar. Warm the water up for us.” 

With a cheeky grin, Harry gets.

*

By the time they make it out of the house, none of the places with the outdoor seating needed so they can bring Puppy are still doing brunch, but a pint and a roast dinner is almost as good as a fry up. Especially at the pub round the corner that do the biggest Yorkshire puddings Nick’s ever seen. Not because Nick’s mad about Yorkshire puddings, but because Harry takes so much delight in telling the tale of his first time trying to make them. Nick groans every time, and pretends he doesn’t want to hear it, but, truth he’d never tell, he’d be disappointed if Harry didn’t make him listen to it anyway. Today, Harry pretends not to tell it to Nick at all, lifting Puppy up and telling it to her, only watching Nick smirk out of the corner of his eye. Nick tries not to vomit with how fucking adorable it is. 

He’s apparently not the only one; two tables away there’s a woman not remotely subtly taking a picture of them with her phone, and there’s a guy at the table next to the door completely ignoring the rest of his party to gaze longingly in Harry’s direction. 

Or, well. Maybe Puppy’s direction. When she finally wriggles out of Harry’s grip, the guy’s eyes follow her to the apparently fascinating tuft of grass at the edge of the fencing. “And you saved it for pudding and served it with jam and tried to convince everyone you made pancakes,” Nick finishes for him when Harry pauses to send a forlorn frown at Puppy’s wiggling backside. 

“It was good with jam,” Harry says. “Ask Gemma. She’ll tell you.” 

The woman taking pictures is now typing furiously on her phone, so Nick figures chances are pretty good the fact he’s having lunch with Harry is public knowledge already, so he gets his own phone out and tweets “@GemmaAnneStyles @HarryStyles told me to ask you if it was good with jam.”

Harry’s phone chirps in his pocket. “What did you do?” he asks. 

“Nothing,” Nick says, putting his phone down and picking up his pint to hide his smile. “The boys must love that you have me on text alert when you’re on tour and I’m doing the breakfast show.” He’s surprised Harry still has him on, really. 

“I turn the ringer off on the bus,” Harry says. “I like seeing your tweets, though, without having to scroll through.” 

“You’re ridiculous.” Nick shoves Harry’s ankle with the toe of his converse for good measure. Distract him from the way even a pint glass can’t hide Nick’s smile now. 

“You’re ridicu— Oh!” Harry jumps, and Nick thinks it’s a seriously delayed reaction to the kick, but then he spies Puppy’s lead curving under the table and leans down to see she’s up on her back legs nosing at Harry’s crotch. 

“Naughty,” Nick says, tugging her away. “Not that I can blame you.” He whispers the last, just loud enough only Harry can hear. Hopefully. 

“Think I dribbled gravy in my lap,” Harry admits. 

“I don’t find that hot,” Nick says. He’s lying. The way Harry slowly licks his lips means he knows it. 

“Naughty,” Nick says again. Puppy and Harry both pretend to ignore him. 

When they’ve finished their food, Nick goes to the bar to get another round of drinks in. When he comes back, Harry’s visible from the door, and Nick pauses for a moment to watch him. Puppy’s at his side, resting in the shade of the table, and her lead is wrapped several times around Harry’s hand. Except, when Nick gets closer, he can see it’s around both his hands, up his arms. Nick can’t even figure out how he did it without help. Aimee’d snarked at Nick for getting such a giant lead for such a tiny puppy, but Harry seems glad he did. He’s got his eyes closed and his face lifted to the sunshine, and he looks ridiculous and beautiful. Not that Nick would share the second part. Plus side, the woman with the camera phone and no social boundaries has gone and everyone else is ignoring the popstar in the corner.

“Hey,” Nick says softly as he gets back to the table so he doesn’t scare Harry, but Harry jumps anyway, flushing a bit more than the sun can account for and almost knocking his almost empty pint over trying to hide his hands under the table.

“Is my dog trying to kidnap you?” Nick asks, putting the full pints down out of reach of Harry’s flailing elbows. 

“No.” Harry’s attempting to unwind his hands, but he’s done too good a job, and ends up just struggling in his lap. It’s giving Nick pub-inappropriate thoughts. 

“Here,” he says, reaching across their knees to hold Harry’s hands between his. “D’you want some help?”

Harry shrugs. 

“How’d you get in this state anyway?” Nick fingers the edge where the strapping cuts into Harry’s forearm, but doesn’t try to undo it, waiting for Harry to ask him to. 

Harry shrugs again. “Dunno,” he says. “I just. Wanted to see.” 

“See?” Harry’s got a history of both bored fiddling with whatever’s to hand, and of doing things to remind Nick in public of sex they’ve had, but this doesn’t seem to be either of those things. Or, it seems like both those things, but like something else as well. 

“You should set me loose,” Harry says. “Our pints’ll get warm.” 

And he’s right. Now is not the time nor the place to talk about whatever the else might be. There’re pints to drink, rays to be soaked up, and a puppy to entertain. They can talk later. 

 

Later turns out to be almost two weeks later, because Nick forgot Harry was driving up to see his mum that evening, and then work was crazy for both of them. They were lucky to get time for a few text exchanges and one stolen night where they slept in the same bed, though Nick was asleep and barely noticed Harry creeping in, and Harry was still too asleep for more than a kiss and a weak-fingered clutch at Nick’s arse before Nick had to leave for work again in the morning. But finally Harry’s latest round of press eases up, and Nick just has the breakfast show to do and one TV show to film, so they have time to sit down with a bottle of wine and the chicken curry Harry spent the afternoon making, and troll through the DVR. 

The food is delicious, the wine is delicious, and there’re four episodes of The Voice that Nick hasn’t seen yet, because they’re much more fun to watch with Harry curled up next to him, so he’s been waiting. Their dishes are in the dishwasher and they’re half-way through the second episode, Harry draped over Nick’s lap. Nick’s rubbing idle circles over one of Harry’s wrist bones with the hand not holding his glass, and hoping the contestant singing is going to do something interesting at some point ever. 

“Like now would be a time,” Harry says. 

“Now would be…” Neither of them has said anything since Harry declined a refill more than twenty minutes ago, and before that they were talking about judging styles on talent reality shows. Harry could be continuing a conversation from two hours ago or two months ago; Nick hasn’t got a clue. 

“That it would be nice if you wanted to tie me up.” He’s looking at Nick’s face, and Nick’s not sure what he sees there, but he adds, “Not for sex. But we can definitely do that again. Just, I mean, like we are.” 

“Like we watch telly, but you’re tied up?” Nick does his best to sound nonchalant, but he’s weirdly nervous that he’s getting Harry wrong. 

“It’s relaxing. Sometimes.” Harry does a half shrug like maybe he’s trying to be nonchalant too. “When everything’s been— If my hands are tied I can’t do anything. I just have to, you know, until you untie me.” 

This sounds like the voice of experience talking and Nick would put money on that it’s Louis who’s done this for Harry before. Given everything Nick and Harry have done together, it’s embarrassing how honoured he feels that Harry trusts him with this. He’s still not one-hundred percent sure why this is what Harry wants, but he gets needing a break sometimes. And Harry seems sure, which is what’s important. 

“What do you like to be tied up with?” Nick asks. 

Harry’s smile is so sudden and sincere it punches Nick in the chest. “Anything,” he says, sitting up eagerly. “Bandana, scarf, tie. That 90s rainbow belt you never wear would work.” 

The belt is almost the same material as Puppy’s lead. Was Harry thinking about the belt at the pub the other week? “I’ll get it,” Nick says. It’s an old Camden Market buy from years and years ago, and he’d forgotten about it entirely until Pixie came out with it on as a headband at a party a few months ago. It had ended the night slung low around Harry’s hips, and has been on the hook on the inside of the wardrobe door ever since. Nick slings back his last sip of wine and leaves the glass on the coffee table on his way out of the room. 

When he gets back, Harry’s paused the telly, and poured the last of the bottle into Nick’s glass. “If this is weird—“ he starts. 

“It’s not,” Nick assures him. “Once you explained what you meant.” Nick stops in front of Harry and rests the hand not holding the belt on Harry’s head. “When you just say ‘Tie me up,’ that’s open to a lot of interpretations.” 

“Okay,” Harry says, pressing his head into Nick’s palm. “Sorry.” 

“Nothing to apologise about.” Nick pets Harry’s cheek, then holds the belt up with both hands. “In front or behind you?” 

Harry holds his arms out in front of him, elbows bent and fingers laced together. Nick takes a second to remind himself that this isn’t leading to sex before setting the center of the belt just below Harry’s wrists and starting to wind it round. Three loops seems about right, and Nick slips the end through the buckle. “Tighter,” Harry says, pressing his forearms together. That does make the loops sag, so Nick gives the end another tug. “Thanks,” Harry says, giving Nick that damn smile again. Nick can’t help returning it. 

It’s not quite as easy to get the buckle right around someone’s wrists as it is around a waist, but Nick fiddles a bit and finally manages to get the sliding bar to set against the fabric so the loops are still tight but the buckle isn’t digging in to Harry’s skin. “Okay?” 

Harry nods. 

Nick goes to sit, but then asks, “Where do you want me?” in case Harry had some idea other than Nick going back where he was. 

“Same,” Harry says, already tilting in anticipation of Nick’s lap reappearing as a pillow. He waits for Nick to settle, pick up his glass, and then lies on his side, head on Nick’s thigh, arms curled against his chest. 

A lock of hair has fallen in his face and Nick pushes it back for him. Harry could, but it would be awkward, and it feels good for Nick to do it. Better somehow than when he’s just playing with Harry’s hair because it’s nice for stroking. “You can put the telly back on,” Harry says, low, so Nick does. 

They watch in silence for a while, Nick’s hand in Harry’s hair, until the episode ends. “Another?” Nick asks. Harry murmurs something that sounds affirmative, so Nick hits play on the third episode. He’s finished his wine, but he doesn’t want to get up to get another bottle, so he just sets his glass aside. Now that hand has nothing to do, so he moves the hand on Harry’s head down to his arm, and strokes Harry’s hair with fingers cool from his glass. 

“I like her,” Harry says softly when the third contestant starts to sing. 

Nick likes her too, but he can’t remember her name. “She’s good,” he says. Harry tips his head to smile up at Nick before going back to watching, humming along a little. 

They agree that the next guy needs better song choices, and Nick checks Harry’s fingers to make sure they aren’t getting cold, ending up with Harry clutching two of Nick’s fingers between his palms. It reminds Nick of the way Lux holds on when you put a finger in her hand. Harry’s a lot less bouncy than Lux at the moment though. 

A lot less restless than he usually is three episodes into anything, too. No poking, prodding, trying to get Puppy’s attention, no getting up to make tea or urging Nick to do it, no talking over the telly or checking twitter every five seconds. It would be a little disconcerting if it weren’t so relaxing. His mood is somehow bleeding into Nick. 

When the episode ends, Harry says, “Bedtime now?” and lifts his hands. 

“You had enough?” 

“’T’was lovely.” He’s still as Nick loosens the buckle and unwinds the belt, rubs the marks on his wrists and massages his hands. 

“It was,” Nick agrees, when he’s done and Harry remains pliant and soft in his lap, on his back now, looking up at Nick like the cat that got the cream. 

“Mmmnngh.” Harry stretches his arms over his head, narrowly missing smacking Nick in the face, and arching his back so his head digs into Nick’s thigh in a potentially nut-crushing manner. 

“Okay.” Nick laughs nervously. “Watch the family jewels there.” 

“Take me to bed and I’ll more than watch them,” Harry says, not moving an inch. 

“Minx.” Nick prods Harry in the ribs. “Up you get.” 

With a groan, Harry levers himself upright, and then to standing, holding out a hand to pull Nick up as well. Nick glances at where the belt’s curled on the table next to the empty wine bottle. “Should I bring that?” he asks. 

Harry considers and then pulls open the little drawer in the table which Nick’s pretty sure is supposed to be for the remotes, which Henry says should be for lube and condoms, and which usually holds nothing at all. “Maybe we can leave it out here?” Harry says, looking at Nick like he needs an answer before he does anything. 

Nick loves that Harry liked it, that he wants to do it again. That whatever he was after from it, Nick managed to give it to him. “Of course,” he says. 

Harry drops the belt in the drawer and shuts it carefully before taking Nick’s hand to lead him down the hall. “We can get proper cuffs for the bedroom,” he says, looking back over his shoulder, grin cheeky now instead of slow and lazy. 

“Alright, kinky.” Nick wonders if he means like police issue, or the leather ones from the window of the Anne Summer’s shop, but they can talk about that another time. “Meantime, what do you have planned for this?” Nick cups his dick through his jeans. 

“Just you wait,” Harry says, pushing Nick toward the bed and shutting the bedroom door. “Just you wait.” 

 

~fin


End file.
